


A Question of Choice

by Nevar23



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-09
Updated: 2009-02-09
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:44:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7352179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevar23/pseuds/Nevar23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Atton Rand has a talk with a ghost from his past. Post-Sith, pre-game Rand angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Question of Choice

_Somewhere in the underbelly of Nar Shaddaa…_

 

* * *

 

 

"I've thought about it, and I think you were right," Marisa announced. Atton stopped mending the latest hole in his jacket and looked her way.

"About what?" he asked, though he had a pretty good idea what.

"To think you could be other that what you are… I think I've made a mistake, Jaq."

"What? Oh, _now_ it's Jaq?" Already on guard considering his present company, he went from zero to defensive in two seconds flat, standing and closing the distance between them. "What the hell, Marisa? Do you have any idea how much danger I put myself in thanks to you? What I walked away from, because of you and your little mission of redemption?" He could feel the disappointment rolling off of her.

"Redemption," she laughed bitterly. "You've learned nothing."

"Sorry, Sweets, but you're dead wrong – if you'll pardon the pun. I've learned a lot. I've learned to take paranoia to a whole new level, for example – make it an art form, even – every minute of every day: trust no one, always look over my shoulder, be ready to defend myself or die…" he snapped his fingers in her face, some part of him glad when she flinched, "just like that, because the Dark Lord of the Sith had a personal vendetta against me. Can't tell you what that does for the old insomnia, either."

"How many people have you killed, Jaq-"

"It's _Atton_ now, thanks," he said, infecting the words with as much sarcasm as possible as they rolled off his tongue. She continued undaunted.

"Since we parted, how many more lives have you taken?"

He tried to do a quick count and gave up by the time he hit six.

"You're not gonna make me feel guilty about defending myself." Was he speaking to her or his conscience? She just looked at him with those calm, knowing eyes. Force, he hated the way she looked at him. It brought back all the memories of that day when she sacrificed herself. For him. "Stop looking at me that way, Marisa. I do what I have to do to survive."

"Yes, I know. The galaxy's a real mean place," she said, recycling and throwing his own words back at him. "Lots of people go their whole lives without harming others, though. Imagine that."

He sighed impatiently, his anger stirring, that defensiveness born of frustration joined by his new best friend shame. He was so damned tired of being angry at the galaxy, at himself and most of all, at her. She didn't deserve it. _Just like I didn't deserve her._

They sat in silence for a slow century of minutes. When he couldn't stand the weight of it any longer, he stood and went to the cabinet for his other best friend - Juma. He considered a glass for a moment, but decided that was just an unnecessary step on the inevitable road to oblivion. With a defiant air, he tipped the bottle toward her with a wink and a nod and tipped it back.

"That’s not the answer," she said reproachfully. His laugh was bleak.

"Kind of depends on the question, but the beauty of it is that if you keep drinking, soon the questions don't matter." He took another swig. "So how is it that you're here, anyway? I mean, last I saw you, you were fading into a pretty shade of blue light." The image of her bruised and broken body immediately preceding that flashed through his mind, prompting him to take another drink. "Or aren't you finished screwing with my life?"

"You needed a reminder," she said softly. "But as I said, perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps my vision was wrong. I was always taught that everyone can be redeemed…" she trailed off.

"You just never stop, do you? Even dead, you're still a Jedi puppet." His jaw clenched as he pressed the heel of his palm into his eye for a moment, doing his best to squelch the impulse to break the bottle over her head. He could actually see himself doing it, and hated himself all the more for thinking of it.

"I needed a reminder," he repeated drolly as he began to pace. “That’s funny.” As if every minute of every day wasn't a reminder. As if every time he looked in the mirror, it wasn't Jaq that he saw. And as if _every_ time he tried to do the right thing, it didn't come back and bite him in the ass. What if she was right? What if it was all some really bad misinterpretation on her part? Wouldn't that be funny? And so perfectly fitting with his life thus far. At least then he could blame her fair and square, though the prospect offered little comfort.

"What are you doing to turn your life around, Jaq?"

"Stop _calling_ me that!" His hand tightened around the neck of the bottle and again, the urge to use it as a weapon nearly overwhelmed him. He growled and threw it, intentionally missing her by a very slight margin as the rage vented itself. Rage. Just like that day when she'd crawled into his head. "You don't get to call me that, Jedi. Not you, not now. Not after you've fucking destroyed me!" Even as the words left his mouth, he knew it wasn't true, but that only made him angrier.

And her reaction? She hadn't flinched, and her expression didn't change. What did the dead have to fear from the living, after all? All the violence in his black and twisted mind couldn't touch her now. He began to laugh - the defeated sound of it spinning out until he wasn't sure if he was sobbing or still laughing. When it had died away he looked at her again, feeling resigned and cruel. "How does it feel, Marisa? To make the mistake of a lifetime?"

"How do you think it feels?" she replied, and he thought he could sense a little extra emotion behind the words. "When I think of the others I may have helped… it's a waste. You seem to be intent on destroying yourself – if not with the Sith, then with your own anger, self-hatred and self-sabotaging habits." He scoffed.

"Heh, I may well burn out in a blaze of booze and regret, but you're a martyr for even less, babe." For just a fraction of a second, he saw her face reflect her sadness. Only a glimpse, but it twisted the dagger of guilt embedded in his heart full circle. He dropped his gaze, staring down at his hand. It trembled slightly, he noticed, this same hand that had inflicted so much pain and misery upon her and countless others.

Truth was, he'd done very little to improve himself, to make her sacrifice mean something. He made excuses about hiding from the Sith and their bounty hunters. It was a convenient lie he told himself, but it wore a bit thinner as time rolled on. It was more than the Sith he was hiding from.

She took a deep breath and blew it out gently. It was amazing and horrifying how every movement or sound she made triggered a specific memory of their time together while she was still alive.

"There was so little time when you made that decision to run," she began, recovering her pristine composure. "Tell me, if you could do it all over, knowing what you do now, what would you do, Jaq?"

_What would you do, Jaq?_

He didn't have an immediate answer for her. The anger drained away from his features as he thought about it, the question echoing endlessly through his mind. Heavy. Pressing down on him. Would he have complied with her wishes, or would he have handed her over to Malak and gone on with his life as Jaq Rand, Elite Sith Operative? His head swam with possibility and revulsion. How many more Jedi would he have broken by now? It had been such a perfect job for him in so many ways. Revan herself had praised him. Even now he felt a surge of pride from that old power he wielded. He braced a hand against the wall while the memories - the screams - swirled into an intense dizziness, the bile rising in his throat. No matter how much denied it, how sick it made him feel, he couldn't hide from it. The monster inside of him was always there, whispering: _You loved it. You were good at it._

He realized he was mumbling aloud. That horrible question.

_"What would you do, Jaq? What would you do Jaq? What would you do Jaq? What-"_

* * *

Atton’s eyes flew open, every nerve singing with the desire to get _away_ , his breath ragged and heart pounding. It took a while to claw his way back to consciousness from the dream. The first thing he became aware of was the urgent need to vomit. Almost automatically, he reached over the side of the bed and grabbed the small waste bin kept there for just such occasions.

Once his stomach was empty, the nausea lingered on as he laid his head against the edge of the mattress. It certainly wasn't the first, but this had been the most vivid dream he'd had of Marisa. Vivid enough to make him question if it was really just a dream. She had the ability to manipulate people's dreams in life, so was she somehow still doing it? No, couldn't be. That was crazy. Wasn't it? With a miserable groan he rolled over onto his back, noting his pillow was wet with sweat but not caring. Their conversation replayed while he stared at the ceiling, his recall complete.

A soft murmur emerged from the warm body beside him. "You alright, Atton?" He tried and failed to remember her name.

"Am I alright?" He took the casual question much more literally than she meant it. "No, I'm not. All things considered, I'm pretty fucking far from alright.”

She raised her head, her sleepy face confused. "Huh? What's wrong?"

"Never mind. Don't you have somewhere to be?" he asked, though it was more of a suggestion, really. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and made it to a sitting position, the motion setting off concussive waves in his head. He rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up. "Shit," he complained under his breath. He needed some caffa and right now, too.

As he tried to stand he nearly toppled when his foot came down on an empty bottle. Just like the one in the dream, only unbroken. His shabby apartment was littered with the detritus of last night's quest for oblivion, in fact, and quite a bit of the past month's relics to boot. Cleaning was never his strong suit. At the 'fresher sink, he reluctantly met his own eyes in the mirror and stared.

"So what would you do, Jaq?" Jaq didn't answer the half-whispered query, but it was a moot point anyway, wasn’t it? No going back now. He knew with dread aplenty that he couldn't continue to live this way. The guilt, the frustration and the anger were eating him alive as sure as the Juma was eating his liver. Thinking about creative ways to off himself had become something of a pastime lately, but he knew he wouldn't do it. That was too easy, an exit he didn't deserve.

The nameless girl had cleared out, thankfully. Nothing like forgetting someone's name to spoil the illusion of romantic potential. He sipped his caffa, looking out his filthy little window at the filthy huge sprawl of Nar Shaddaa. It wasn't an atmosphere conducive to redemption by any stretch of the imagination. It was way too easy to maintain the status quo, and the status quo was killing him, he realized with a crystal clear clarity. That alone – clarity - was a sure omen that change was called for, that he needed to break this stasis he'd mired himself in.

"Yeah… I gotta get out of here," he said aloud.

One of the regulars at The Black Hole cantina had mentioned a job to him. Peragus, if he remembered correctly. Maybe after that, he'd relocate, take on some legitimate bounty work. Alderaan, maybe. It was an interesting enough place and certainly a step up from Nar Shaddaa. Good Pazaak dens, too.

The faintest hint of a smile ghosted over his features as he realized it was the beginnings of a decent plan. It felt like a start in the right direction, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> In case it wasn't apparent, Marisa is the name I've given to the Unnamed Jedi that precipitates Atton's departure from the Sith. Thanks for reading!


End file.
